FinNALA Newsletter
February 2014,
Volume 7, Number 1
Publication of the
Finnish North American Literature Association
© February 1, 2014
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FinNALA Website Updated
The
FinNALA website is updated. At www.finnala.com, where you can
find 2014 renewal information, a new source for Finnish Crime Fiction in
translation, and advertising opportunities for your particular needs.
~~~
Kippis!
Kippis! (will be) taking submissions for our next edition. Do send us your short story, essay, memoir, poem, or artwork. We can’t guarantee fame and fortune but, if your work is accepted, you will be read by a thoughtful and sympathetic audience. Don’t be shy! Take the leap! For further information on submission guidelines or to send your work contact gkwuori at hotmail dot com.
~~
Announcements
Red Metal
The Copper Country Strike of 1913
February 20th Showing at Finlandia University
The documentary Red Metal: The Copper Country Strike of 1913, will be shown on
February 20 at the Chapel of St. Matthew on the campus of Finlandia
University, Hancock, Michigan, at 4:15 p.m. Film consultant Steve Lehto will be
at the presentation and available for questions and answers. For further
information on the presentation, contact Terri Martin at terri dot martin at
Finlandia dot edu
This hour-long film, which recently
aired on PBS, was produced by Jonathan Silvers and Robert Y. Lee of Saybrook
Productions and tells the story of the strike which shut down the copper
industry in the Keweenaw in 1913.
Steve Lehto appears in the film and served
as consultant for the project. Some of
Mr. Lehto’s books will be available for purchase and signing. The DVD will also
be available to buy.
DVD
now available through Public Radio: http://www.shoppbs.org/product/index.jsp?productId=29393516 or Amazon:
~~
Finnish Settlements in Manitoba, Canada
Information Sought
The
Finnish Club of Manitoba is gathering stories for a history of people
with a Finnish heritage from the earliest immigrants, late 1800's,
right up to the present. The Finnish settlements in Manitoba will be
featured as well as stories from individuals. Very little has been
recorded about the Finns in our province. If you have any information please
contact Hazel Lauttamus Birt, hgbirt at shaw dot ca or phone 204-888-6743.
~~~
Road Scholar 2014
“Finnish-America’s Copper Country and the
Sibelius Academy Music Festival”
September 22-27, 2013
Hancock,
Michigan
Finlandia
University will again host a Road Scholar (formerly Elderhostel) program, which
will immerse participants in the Finnish-American culture and history of the
Copper Country. The program will feature lecture presentations, a field trip,
workshops, Finnish cuisine, folk dancing, and most notably the finale concert
of the Sibelius Academy Music Festival.
In addition, the Road Scholars will visit a copper mine, a mineral
museum, and enjoy the spectacular scenery of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness
State Park.
2013 Road
Scholars learn how to make a vasta/vihta
from
birch branches (for
switching in the sauna)
~~~
Kivisto Receives Honorary Doctorate
Peter
Kivisto was awarded an honorary doctorate from the Faculty of Humanities at the
University of Turku this past May. Peter Kivisto and University of Helsinki sociologist Osten Wahlbeck edited Debating Multiculturalism in the Nordic Welfare States (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013)
~~~
Publications
~~~
White Rabbit
By K.A. Laity
K.A.
Laity’s new novel, White Rabbit, will be
out from Fox Spirit Books this April around Easter. It's a slightly
supernatural crime novel about a disgraced detective, a murdered socialite and
a mysterious drug cult. Bestselling author James Oswald says, "The
mystery was deftly played with just the right balance of action and character
interplay to keep me turning the pages."
Laity
also has novellas out this month under two noms
de plume: the noir tale of obsession Extricate as Graham Wynd, also from
Fox Spirit Books, and The Big Splash, a sprightly Jazz Age
romp as Kit Marlowe from Tirgearr Publishing.
~~~
The Englishman
Can love go the
distance?
By Helena Halme
When a young Finnish student, Kaisa, is
invited to the British Embassy cocktail party in Helsinki to celebrate a Royal
Navy visit to Finland, she’s not looking for romance. After all, her future has
been carefully planned: she’s to complete her degree, marry her well-to-do
Finnish fiancé and live happily ever after. Enter the dashing Peter, a newly
qualified naval officer. Like a moth to a flame, Kaisa falls head over heels in
love...Can the love between Kaisa and the Englishman
last and go the distance?
A stylish 1980s Nordic love story, The
Englishman is based on true
events.
Available at Amazon.com for $9.95. Below
is the link for the online version:
Helena Halme grew up in Tampere, central
Finland then moved to Sweden in her early teens. Halme studied Political
Science in Helsinki, and moved to Britain in 1985. There she spent the first
ten years as a naval wife and worked as a journalist for the BBC. In 2004
Helena received a master’s degree in Creative Writing and has since written
three novels: The Englishman, Coffee and Vodka and The Red
King of Helsinki, all of which are set in Finland and published on Kindle.
Helena now lives in London where she runs Finn-Guild, which is a Finnish Expat
charity.
~~~
Life is an Amazing Song
By John (Juha) Raikkonen
Life
is an Amazing Song is a memoir about growing up in Finland
during the Finnish-Russian war from 1939 to 1945 and beyond. Described by a
reader as “a humorous and serious tale…this book left me wanting for more.”
This poignant story describes the experiences of a young boy living at his
grandparents’ farm in Oulu, North Finland during the war. A thrilling memoir, Life is an Amazing Song is steeped in
the tradition of Angela’s Ashes, My Life as a Dog (Swedish book)
with a hint of Tom Sawyer.
ISBN: 1453735100 300 pages. Rated five stars in the National Press. Edited by: Mike Valentino
Reviewed by: Jean Purcell, Siggy Buckley, Laila Sullivan, and others.
~~
Finnish Log Construction--The Art
By F.W. Eld
The
Finns introduced the log cabin to America.
Finnish Log Construction-The Art
tells their story. This
book details in a scholarly, yet understandable manner, the unique log
construction developed in Finland and brought to America. Their method of
squared and tightly fitted logs with locked corners was used in New Sweden
Colony and later by Finnish immigrants in the northern United States and
Canada. They perfected log construction
to an art. The author has documented hundreds of remaining examples, some
preserved, others falling prey to time. These Finns have never been recognized
for their art-until now.
Contact:
ImFinn at iclouc dot com $26.95 plus $6 S&H
Box
657, Donnelly, Idaho, 83615
Editor's Note: Hanka Homestead, located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula (Pelkie, south of Houghton/ Hancock) has a restored house and several outbuildings featuring this log construction. Consider a visit!
~~~
Creative Contributions
Prose, Poetry, & Memoir
~~~
China
Two Poems by Michael King
Prelude from Lightning Ride: a Descent by Bicycle
Rhyming
Rider rides
Custom
Cruiser, races
Dawn:
pink and purple
flames
from Her chariot’s wheels
stretch
across the sky.
The
heavens turn to peach
and
orange as Helios ascends
the
eastern horizon.
The
morning ride stretches past noon—
in
a grove of drowsy apple trees,
beside
a row of blossoming hawthorns,
bike
and rider stop for rest.
Robins
pluck worms from the damp, late
Spring
ground. Forged by Hephaestus, carefully
welded
together into a sturdy
diamond-shaped
frame by His skillful
hands,
the shiny metal, rounded
rails
of the quick chariot’s chassis
send
white shafts of reflected sun
into
the roof of leaves that brush
together
and swish out a swirling
harmony
above the dozing page.
Pillars of golden light step lively
to
the wandering rhythms of brief breezes,
which
branches with pink and white flowers
and
red fruits follow as they pass.
Shadows
dip and sway beside
their
bright, late-day dance partners, who,
one-by-one,
slip out of sight,
and
retire to silk-lined bedchambers
somewhere
beyond the grip of Night.
Slapped
by a sudden gust of wind,
the
custom machine falls to the ground;
stainless
steel spokes
twirl—the freewheel clicks.
twirl—the freewheel clicks.
The
blue sky retreats to the west.
Spewing
black and gray mist,
massed
in dagger-shaped phalanxes,
groaning
thunderclouds advance from the east.
Poseurs’ Ed.
Reward
incompetent bootlickers, heinous chiefs
of
an assumed world school procured below Zhang’s port:
they
pose no threat to your corruption.
Profits flow
to
your pretenses, farcical yet they endure
despite
your students’ failures, bared in true reports
concealed
by you. The model city you deceive
hears
only lies you spew, reads only advertised
success,
and the affluent pay extortionate
tuition
fees. The wealthy parents spend much
more
when
two thirds of their cozened kids fail, never go
to
colleges abroad. Of those that do about
four
fifths flunk out, return before they finish one
semester;
done, they drive their Benz to walking streets
on
bulldozed swamps beside the Changjiang, where you skulk.
Michaelyricking.blogspot.com
Dactylicus at
gmail dot com
~~~
= (a poem title)
By
Lauri Anderson
Universe
= poetry
Poetry = universe
God
= poem w/o beginning, end (or middle)
Devil
= an ellipsis
Good
intentions = cotton candy
wrapped around the barrels
of assault rifles
A
Finn is stolid existence—sisuesque rhythm, sleety rhyme
The
creation of mankind = Earthquake
An unnatural disaster
The
acceleration of every [ ] is a –
through expanding poetry
authored by Einstein
et al or maybe some other
Jew
on a plastic cross
It
doesn’t matter. We’re all the chosen
Poem’s chosen life forms,
even Finns (and Tongans) (and whales)
And
Melville? He too is extra-cetological.
~~~
Destitute in
Paris
By Eero Sorila
After spending a few weeks in Paris I
was broke. An alarming message was sent to a friend in Finland:
“Please send me some large bills by
registered mail.” A handful of coins,
for the moment, kept starvation at bay.
A small bakery was a good source of
cheap pastries—a substitute for pulla-Finnish
coffee bread. Luckily, free tap water washed down my pastries. It was important
to stretch my coin reserve as far as possible.
After
meeting a couple in the Parisian Finnish community, I was invited to stay with
them until the arrival of the money. Over a week passed without results. Finnish bashfulness took over and I was embarrassed to stay with the considerate
couple any longer. I embraced the world of the destitute.
I had no idea
where I would spend the night. Many Finnish artists, writers and musicians,
like Akseli Gallen-Kallela, Helen Shederbeck and Jean Sibelius had lived in
Paris but they all had comfortable accommodations.
As the evening was getting chilly I managed to
buy a Metro ticket. I rode the rails until the Metro closed at 1:00 am.
The
famous Arc de triomphe greeted me as I finally made my exit above
ground.
I still had no idea where to spend the night.
A cast iron bench, decorated in Art Nouveau motifs, became my ice box
bed.
It
was still dark at 5:00 a.m. when I
walked to a nearby McDonalds. Once again I was counting pennies in the palm
of my hand. Fortunately there were enough coins for a cup of hot chocolate.
A large muscular black man, resembling the
past boxing champion Mike Tyson, took
my order. He looked at my haggard face, stubbly and pale after a cold night,
and handed over the hot chocolate and
said: “It is on the house.” Being fully
surprised but thankful, I went out to the street singing an old Finnish song
about a lucky night traveler- Tänä yönä
onni suosii kulkijaa.
After
my “lucky” night those coveted large bills arrived from Finland, and I was no
longer destitute in Paris.
The Eiffel Tower
was somewhere behind my back as I shivered the night away on a cast iron bench.
~~~
Two Poems
By Russell Jokela
Mt. Emei, China (on an excursion with my father)
i.
And
I am here.
the
sun rising again
over
the endless sea of Sichuan
her
soft lovely hand pressed against
the
back of the bus seat
seen
from atop
the lush mounts and forests of Emei
the
other arm holding a child
and
the moon in half
already
in the midst of blue
And
I am here.
traveling
together over stone bridges
over
mountain streams
the
Chinese smile hand in hand
and
chatter unrestrained
past
bamboo groves, brush
wild
hardwood and softwood forests
thickets
and plantations of corn
we
make acquaintance as readily
on
steep hillsides in the early dark
ii.
Emei
air is clear and palatable
the
waters too, from mountainsides return
in
broken rivers, of broken valleys we pass
lie
scattered boulders like cracked skulls
crowned
with high-water bamboo and grass
And
I am here.
she
rests her hand on mine
to
speak
from
her pearl head, black nylon hair
ripe
raspberry lips
through
foothill forests on foot
we
press hard over ascending stones
to
this elephant lotus temple, high in the hills
of
bells, and chants, and smells, and monks
our
sweat, and the air
as
dense as Asian summer
And
I am here.
the
highest art is nature’s part
to
bend and mold and turn around
forever
in this fashion
she
strolled up to the ancient pond
bathed
and combed in riveting dress
frogs
cried out eternal attraction
and
fish displayed their naked art
revealing
to all her mortal reflection
though
flesh and bones of Chinese oil
And
I am here.
to
smell and taste and hear again
the
foliage, the firmament, her ready smile
bathing
in the sun’s last rays
draped
in moments long since passed
we
reveled in what couldn’t last.
On the
Disappearance of Divinity
from
the face of earth
in
forgotten ages already,
departed
aloft
in out-stretched wings
of
a phoenix to the stars
from
a hermit’s fire
rose
up a Chinese mountain
or
plummeted to an Indian seabed
and
disappeared into silt
bequeathed
us to ruin
to
our hollow selves
I’ll
hear a remnant in the wind
at
times, a flutter
perhaps
see an ethereal wisp,
a
psychedelic beam dissipating
and
all I desire
into
eternity trace
that
atmospheric bird
~~~
Two Poems
By Lisbeth Holt
IMAGES!
The
images before us intrude deeply into our cells.
Like
mirrored replicas
What
our eyes see, our minds think, our emotions feel:
instantaneously
absorbed within.
It’s
not just a passing fancy, you see.
The
violent cinema, the inane trivia, the obscene greed,
All
transferred into our vulnerable being!
Insidiously
we become more like what we see.
Therefore,
today…
Be
vigilant with what enters your receptive being!
Protect
your purity, your wild and creative heart!
Today…
Exchange
eternal ideas face-to-face;
Converse
about what inspires and ennobles!
Today…
Explore
the sheer beauty of seascape, mountain, desert;
Share
a picnic by the sea; host an exuberant garden party!
Stroll
amidst elegant cities with soaring architecture…
Reflect
quietly.
Today…
You
hear the music.
Dance!
Transform
your world into your essential truth!
A GOLDEN GODDESS
I WILL NEVER BE!
A
golden goddess I will never be
That
of your fantasies
Yet
you must know it’s me I like to be!
That
image you have in your mind
Cannot
upset my equilibrium:
Each woman is a goddess born
And
but needs to embrace her destiny.
Why
would I not then appreciate
This
faithful body which houses my spirit,
These
brown tresses turning to silver,
Blue-gray
eyes like glistening stones on Baltic shores?
Why
would I not celebrate
What
the Fates have dealt me:
This
passionate heart, this resilient mind,
These
candid emotions, swift, deep, strong?
Each
woman has an alluring myth all her own
And
a multi-dimensional reality.
Illusions
are just insubstantial fleeting things…
When
you see a golden goddess, admire as you will:
I
know it’s me you love and I who love you still.
Lisbeth Holt travelbylis
at aol dot com
Three Poems
By Diane Dettmann
TIMBER MONUMENTS
Miniature
blades
Of
grass
Cradle
white clover blossoms
As
the great pine,
A
monument
Of muted greens,
Stretches
deep
Into
the evening sky.
Images
of clouds pierced
By
ancient trees
Replaced
by skyscraper spires
Of
wealth and power.
Memorials
of bough and bark
Lost
forever.
Light
fades into darkness.
REMEMBERING
The
earth’s soul
Touched
My
heart
The
day
I
met you.
Our
hearts and breath
Entwined
in the valley
Filling
us with
Layers
of love
In
the evening fog.
THE PERFECT FOOD
Chocolate
cake the perfect food
With
vanilla ice cream the texture’s fine,
The
cocoa so healthy
Better
than wine!
Eat
the chocolate layers for breakfast
Church
socials or teas.
Piled
high with whipped cream
And
chopped walnuts,
Chocolate
cake sure beats
Cooked
peas!
Diane Dettmann is the author of Miriam Daughter of Finnish Immigrants and Twenty-Eight Snow Angels A Widow’s Story of
Love, Loss, and Renewal which was recently named runner-up in the “Beach
Book Festival Awards”. Diane’s shared
her writing at local author events, festivals and international conferences in
Finland and Canada. Diane’s website: http://outskirtspress.com/snowangels
Two Poems
By Charles Peltosalo
Sailing the
Geologic Sea
Give
me a high plains sage, rolling a dusty green
Up
and over a mountain range, sailing the geologic sea.
Let
me ride the sandstone waves and
Toss
and glide in the rubbly red scree;
Send
me off where canyons wind
Through
granite boulders’ company.
Like
high desert fox in the breaks and draws
Dance
in and vanish without a trace,
Give
me the golden’s wings to disappear on
Summer
winds above the prairie’s face.
Grant
me the hooves and the paws of the desert elite,
Antelope
and coyote’s muscly feet,
The
hawk’s sharp claws on the juniper’s branch,
The
lizard’s prickled cactus retreat.
Send
me away under warm Summer moons,
Let
my spirit ride broad rolling silver-lit dunes.
Jagged
heights of far ranges to a soul hold no mystery
That
my far-roving mind cast adrift surely won’t see.
Let
the wide open plains forever beckon me
Far
from the shores of the crowding society,
With
badger and eagle and mule deer please reckon me
Gone
sailing the geologic sea.
Visitors
Honeysuckle
potions
Suntan
oiled pearly voodoo
Carolina
Sea and Ski
Myrtle
Beach Boardwalk strolling in a sweat-crystalled shimmer,
Conjured,
Unite
in breezes blown from a hidden ocean,
Visits
me homesick on the mountain,
Soothes
the stray in me.
Black-water
swamp scenes come to me sing-song with Summer smells,
Plant
bright flowers at my feet,
Whisper
childhood rhymes forgotten by
Dirt
road ponds Saturday found
Bamboo
pole bream-ready.
I
remember lazy mornings:
Misty
Southern days by yellow-pollened pines.
Cardinals
sing in carnations there,
Blue
jays rail at squirrels.
Green
is green there, not a pale shade tired by
Snow-suffered
Winters,
But
a celebration of life unfurled,
Jungle-rich,
Wysterian,
Magnificent
in lusty twining growth,
Exultant
in strong sun,
Bird-infested,
flower-strewn.
Now
I lace my feet in leather boots,
Scale
jagged granite oyster,
Wander
chiasmic canyons and bareback mountains set like
Seashells
on a planetary shore,
Traverse
the snow-bound ridges of
Wind-ice
crystals powdered into frozen dunes unshifting
And
dream of June’s first week:
Cutoff
jeans by the Atlantic,
Flip-flops
on the burning sand,
Convertible
Camaros geared to rayon,
Blonde
bikini drag race.
Searching
for a magic lady to share the Southern Summer’s spell,
Finding
mountain girls from West Virginia lonely with desire.
Everyone
has been too cold too long
So
they gather round driftwood bonfires burning on the beach at night.
I
remember dizzy evenings spent slow-dancing to the Drifters underneath pavilion
moons
While
all the palmettos warmly whispered:
“Hold
her closely, kiss her long.
She’ll
be gone in some short tomorrow,
She’ll
be a memory way too soon.”
0430
quiet town, laying prone
Sprawled,
tired, asphalt-spent,
Dropped
to the Earth’s floor like a fallen coat of
Sequined
lights tossed in a corner at the end of the day.
A
boulevard of heatless fire from the river bridge to
Broadway
glows luciferinous,
Bug-sized,
Softly
beams like a fallen flight of mercury vapor fireflies.
They
cast bronzed-grey shadows on the up-rim hills,
Spread
silhouettes born of neon to the wild.
Predawn town without ignitions
Sleeping
autos
Western
man off astral
The
lightly tripping morning star
Earth
relaxed deep in its’ planetary dreams
The
silent planet’s hour.
An
attic passage opens as you leave the valley
Reveals
old ceremony sites on the mountain
Pause
and pray a moment there
Dig
deep as you can go underneath old Europe,
Rhyme
with songs the rocks are making,
Blend
with the subtle attentions of lichen streaming off to space,
But,
look up early,
Look
up to the mystery-strewn sky:
Jupiter
courted by Saturn wheels around the gibbous moon
That shines on Mars from its’ black cape like
An
iridescent weasel eye peeled attentive, prey-wary.
Be
nothing, yet everything special;
Be
a milkman before the dawning,
A
paperboy who roams,
Be
a restless hiker from the valley
Anonymous
in star-patched morning,
Anonymous,
but not alone.
~~~
Photo by Charles Peltosalo
Can you come up with a good caption?
(Do not use these lame examples:)
So, do you come here often?
What’s a nice tortoise like you dong in a place like this?
My sign’s Taurus—I bet yours is TORTOISE?
~~~
Waiting for
Climate Change
(Not
really a poem, more of a rant)
By Terri Martin
Swirling
vortex of snow dust
Like
albino locusts attacking my beams
Rendering
visibility poor
White
road, black ice
Invisible
stop sign
Mailbox
gone; damn plow
Poor
gas mileage
Dead
battery
Hungry
deer wait for corn
Dog
won’t pee; too cold
Eat
too much
Drink
too much
Cuss
too much
Sleep
too much
Talk
about the weather too much
Waiting
for climate change
Urge
to kill Al Gore
FinNALA Newsletter Editorial Team:
Terri Martin, Editor-in-Chief
Sirpa Kaukinen, Assistant Editor
Beth Virtanen, Publisher
